Night without Stars
by Elster Gloom
Summary: A narrative account of one of my Skyrim characters, [Night without Stars] is the story of Alouette Perrow, a Breton. After escaping sexual slavery, her mission of personal revenge against those who have wronged her becomes perverted into a much darker endeavor. Companion works: [Sky Above, Voice Within] and [From Past to Present]. Special thanks to dostana for editing/proofreading!
1. Silent Footsteps

? 4E 201

Awakening in total darkness, Alouette felt panic before anything else. Her thoughts swirled mistily in her mind, intangible as she tried to hold onto them. Her body was stiff and sore. She was thirsty, but without any light, she couldn't tell what, if anything, was with her. All she knew of this place was that she had been propped up against a damp stone wall. She groped around the floor in front of her – also stone – but decided against too much exploration right away; she had no idea how large this room was or what was in it. Without any recourse, she turned around to the stone wall and licked the moisture from it. It didn't leave as bad a taste in her mouth as she had expected, and this gave her a miniscule amount of confidence.

Crawling around in the dark, with her hands out to feel for walls, she got a sense of the space she was in. It was small, perhaps the size of a cell in a dungeon. Perhaps, she supposed, that was it. The door was heavy and wooden. After feeling the walls and floor to find that there was nothing in the room with her, she moved back to where she had been, against the back wall of the cell. She felt compelled to stay as far away from the door as possible.

The last thing Alouette could remember was traveling. She had been seeking passage with a horse drawn cart based out of Windhelm. Although she couldn't offer much in the way of payment, the carriage driver had agreed to let her ride at a discount, since he would be returning to the city anyway. She was now dressed in a small, loose-fitting linen tunic, but that hadn't been what she was wearing that day. That had been the third day of Midyear… But it felt so long ago. Wasn't there anything after that? She couldn't remember, and it seemed as though the more she tried to force the memories to return, the more elusive they became. With no other living soul to speculate with, and no view of the outside world, she couldn't even guess at the date or the time of day.

As she leaned against the wall, trying to assemble her thoughts and memories, Alouette heard the heavy door open. She immediately became tense. The door quickly closed again, and in the brief window of light that poured in, she could barely make out the figure of a man with matted-looking hair.

"Who are you?" she asked hesitantly. He ignored her question, and she thought she heard fabric shuffling.

"Where in _Oblivion_ am I?!" Alouette tried again, demandingly this time.

She received no response, and though she couldn't _see_ anything, she could _feel_ the man moving closer to her. Suddenly, she was very aware of her underdressed state. She drew her bare legs close to her body and backed against the wall.

"Stay away from me," she stammered, her brief surge of confidence gone.

The man knelt down on the floor, bent over Alouette, and began trying to pry her legs apart. In her mind she was screaming, and her body began to thrash. She wasn't sure whether she was trying to strike the man, or just wriggle out of his grasp, but before she managed to do either of those things, she felt his fist come down on her hard. He must have been aiming for her face, Alouette supposed, but he missed and hit her in the side of the neck instead. She was briefly glad that he hadn't managed to break her nose, but this feeling was fleeting. She knew what was coming.

"Liked it better when you were out cold," the man grunted as he struggled to subdue her.

At that, Alouette lost the will to keep fighting back. She was exhausted, dehydrated and starving, unable to see three inches in front of her face, and locked in a cell. If she made him any angrier, would he kill her? Death may have been better than this, but she didn't even have the energy to find out.

Although it was obvious, she still struggled to believe that this was happening, and had already happened, if what the man had said was true. This disgusting, savage beast of a man had already been here to use her body as his plaything. Suddenly, she felt impossibly heavy, and her limbs went limp. As he spread her legs apart, she remembered every risk she had ever taken in life, now with regret. He repositioned her body for his convenience, and she heard her own voice echoing in her head. _I'll be fine_, she had always said, dismissing the concerns of her loved ones. She felt him push against her and began to weep silently. _That will never happen to me_, she had always said.

? 4E 201

How many days and nights had now passed in this waking nightmare, Alouette could not guess. Different men came and went, sometimes frequently and sometimes not. She was fed scraps at what felt like random intervals, leaving her unable to guess the time of day. She was generally kept without light, with few exceptions. One such exception was the periodic clipping of her finger- and toenails. They were kept painfully short, and bled often – but, importantly, the man who clipped them needed a light in order to do the job. For this he became central to her plan, and finally, after careful, meticulous plotting and planning, she had chosen this as the day she would escape.

The men who participated in her keeping – who brought food and water, clipped her nails, and so on – always took from her in return. When the one with the lantern and clippers came around, she knew what he wanted from her. Dutifully Alouette knelt to the floor in front of him, closing her eyes, trying not to think too hard about it. Even with her eyes closed, she heard the now familiar sounds of fabric shuffling and rustling, as the man situated his trousers around his hips. Not long later, when she knew he was reaching for paradise, she bit down as hard as she could. She was a little surprised that he didn't scream – instead he made a high pitched, whiny, sort of grunting sound.

Alouette's mouth filled with hot blood and she tried to jerk her head back. She had wanted to bite it off completely, but it was tougher than she had imagined it would be. Instead, she released her bite and let go. While the man writhed in pain, she grabbed his lantern and gave it the hardest swing she could, right into the side of his head. She failed to knock the man out, but the net effect of her surprise attack still gave her the window of opportunity that she had hoped for. As he collapsed in a daze, one hand clutching his manhood and the other holding the side of his head, Alouette – lantern in hand – made for the door.

To complete her escape, Alouette would have to move quickly and silently. Luckily, upon exiting her cell, it was fairly easy to tell which way was up. It looked as though she was inside a mine. She passed more cells along the way, and didn't look inside. Wordlessly, she promised any captives inside them that she would lead as many guardsmen as would follow her back to this place to liberate them.

By avoiding any path that didn't lead up, she made it to the entrance of the mine without further incident. She passed through as cautiously as she could, not knowing what to expect on the other side. When the door opened and closed behind her, she was met with half a dozen large, burly men sitting at a table, looking bewilderedly up at her from their meals. She bolted.

It was dark, and she had no time for any feeble attempt to navigate with the stars; it didn't take any time at all for her captors to give chase. She climbed down over some rocks to break their line of sight, and came to a river. All the while, she could hear them jeering after her. In absence of a road, Alouette knew that the river was her best chance for survival. If she followed it, she was sure to find people – a town, a farm, _something_ – eventually. And, now halfway down a rocky cliff, with the men above and the rushing water below, she realized that the river was truly her only option.

Carefully, Alouette slid down the rest of the rocks and boulders and dipped herself into the river. _I'll just hold on to the side and follow the current,_ she told herself, as if she had any choice in the matter. _Eventually, I'll find someone or someone will find me_. The river was wild, and even clinging to the rocky cliffs that lined it, keeping her head above the water was a struggle. But somehow, as she bobbled and dunked, she recognized the sight of a stone bridge high overhead – but there was no bank in sight. She had no way to access it.

Desperately managing to climb up atop a large boulder on the side of the river, Alouette was still dishearteningly unable to reach the ground or the bridge above her. What was more, she could now see from her vantage point that the river she was traveling was headed for a waterfall. She couldn't risk the waterfall from the water, so she carefully and quietly scrambled onto the rocky cliff alongside the river, and slowly climbed down next to the waterfall, before being forced to reenter the water.

When a patch of soily shore opened up on the opposite side of the river, Alouette made a mad attempt to reach it; the side she was on looked to be all rocks and cliffs, as far ahead as she could see. Kicking as hard as she could to reach the other side, she was dragged further downriver and several times swept under by the current, before she made it to a riverbank. But, just as she thought she could have a moment to catch her breath, she heard a now familiar voice – it sounded like the gruff man who came to her after she awoke in the cell.

"There you are," he grumbled. "I'm gonna teach you what happens to little whores who try to run."

Alouette ran, she had no idea where to – she simply picked a direction and moved. She could hear the man's booted feet pounding after her. Just as she could feel her body slowing down and running out of breath, and her feet blistering and bleeding from the hard, uneven terrain, finally she came to a road. She glanced around wildly, trying to pick a direction, her head spinning in confusion just trying to keep up, and suddenly she spotted buildings. And they were close!

Feeling a second wind coming, Alouette made a break for it, running full tilt until, approaching the town, she collided with a guardsman in red. _Where do the city guards wear red?_ she wondered to herself, but put it out of her mind for the time being. She'd have time to figure that out when she was safe – _truly_ safe, with other people, out of the night. Whatever she blurted out to the guard, she supposed didn't make much sense; he looked alarmed. He tried to calm her down as much as possible, as he led her into the town and down its small road, to the inn. Then he sat her down next to the fire and went over to speak to the innkeeper. There were a handful of other people there. Alouette eyed them with suspicion, but they didn't look at her. Shortly after, the guard came back over to her.

"It looks like you've been through a lot," he commented, looking her over. She was barefoot, only half-dressed, and filthy. She hadn't bathed in – she didn't even know how long. There was a film of dirt mixed with sweat and, in some places, blood over all of her skin. Her hair was tangled and matted.

"Rest here for the night. Have something to eat – don't worry about paying; I spoke with Faida so you're all set," the guard said, gesturing toward the woman who kept the inn. "Whoever hurt you, tomorrow we'll see about getting them brought to justice."

Faida brought over a plate of food and a tankard of ale after the guardsman left. Baked potatoes, bread, chicken. Butter, herbs, and salt. Alouette had, for the most part, been fed grainy, slimy gruel by the men holding her captive. This was _real_ food.

"What day is it?" Alouette asked Faida uncertainly.

"Tomorrow will be the 18th of Last Seed," Faida replied, a little incredulous. "What do you call yourself?"

"Alouette."

"Alouette," Faida repeated. "When you finish eating, Alouette, I'll show you to your room for the night."

Alouette ate her meal slowly, appreciating the taste and the texture. Later, after she had finished, Faida led her to a room. Finally, Alouette felt like she was in a safe place, and the moment her body touched the bedding, she fell asleep.

At first, she was plagued with nightmares – all about the captors she had just managed to escape. The men coming to find her, ambushing the guardsman who had helped her, coming to take her, imprisoning Faida the innkeeper and ransacking her inn, bursting into this room and taking her, forcing her, all over again. She woke up terrified, but when she managed to fall asleep again, her dreams were sweeter. The guards of whatever hold this was tracking the men down and slaughtering them, Alouette standing over their mangled corpses, their heads rotting on posts outside her door.

Morndas, 18th of Last Seed, 4E 201

When Alouette first woke up, she just lay there for a time, enjoying the feeling of being in a bed, feeling warm and protected. After some time passed, Faida appeared in the doorway to her room.

"Good," the innkeeper said, "I was wondering if you would ever wake up." She smirked lightheartedly, then gestured toward a chest against the wall, near the door. "There are some proper clothes for you, and shoes. I'll send for a guard to come and meet you in the main hall."

There was a jug of water in the room, which Alouette used to wash her face. She took her time to dress herself in the clothes Faida provided, relishing the task. Even simple cotton felt like fine silk to her at this moment, and the weight of a long dress – of being fully dressed, in real clothing – was an exquisite comfort. Putting her sore, tired feet into boots was painful, but even in that she managed to take great pleasure, knowing that her feet would be protected from the terrain. There was no looking glass in her room, she realized, as she began combing out as many of the tangles in her hair as she could, but she supposed that was for the best. She was sure her face looked tired, and her complexion lackluster. She glanced down at the skin on her arms and hands and found it a dull, ashen color – not the rich, caramel color that it usually was. She must have been missing the sunlight the entire time, from the third of Midyear until now. After reflecting on this, she ventured from her room to the main hall of the inn and was greeted by a guardsman – not the same one who had brought her here the night before, but one who nevertheless had a kind face.

The guard asked her to tell him what had happened to her, and she explained it as well as she could. Alouette had always thought of herself as a fairly tough person, but some parts of her story were difficult even just to talk about, and she found herself trailing off and avoiding saying certain things outright. The guard was patient with her when she nearly broke down, and when she finally finished her tale, even he had to take a deep breath and a moment to think.

"Well, it might do good to take you to the capital to speak with the captain," he said finally. "I can't make any guarantees that we'll be able to catch these barbarians… especially if you can't tell us their exact location or lead us directly to their hideout."

Alouette's mood fell. The guard sounded skeptical that anything would or _could_ be done about the men. To her ears, he didn't even seem to want to bother trying. He must have seen her face fall; he backpedaled a little.

"But, it may be that these are some of the bandits we've been after lately anyway. And we may be able to investigate this crime within the city, and find someone connected to them, maybe get them that way…"

"What about the cart driver?" Alouette suddenly asked. "He said he was based in Windhelm. You could send a message to the Jarl of Eastmarch and—" she was cut off by the guard.

"I don't think that's going to happen," he said. There was a sound of resignation in his voice. "But if you're up to it, I'll still escort you into the city."

"Which city is that, exactly…?" she asked timidly. "I… still don't know where I am." The guard seemed a little taken aback.

"Solitude," he replied after a moment. "You're in Haafingar. This town is Dragon Bridge."

The realization staggered Alouette. Solitude? This… this was the other end of Skyrim altogether, from where she was headed that day. She could vaguely hear the guardsman telling her that they could easily be in Solitude within the day, but she still couldn't believe it. Less than a day's travel from Solitude? Suddenly, she realized the guard was looking at her expectantly, waiting for an answer.

"Okay," she managed to spit out. "Yes, I mean. I'll go to… to Solitude." She still sounded incredulous.

As predicted, they arrived within the day, just in time for the spectacle of a public beheading. Alouette found herself staring at the headsman preparing to swing his axe. She wasn't listening to any of the things that were being said. She wanted to imagine it was the men who had held her captive, but she never got a good look at any of their faces, so it was hard to picture. It abruptly occurred to her that if she wasn't able to picture any of them, then they could be anybody. She had no real way of knowing who they were. Even if they were arrested by the guards, she wouldn't be able to identify them. The gaurdsman's hand on her upper arm made her jump.

"I don't think it's best for you to watch something like this, miss," he said gently, calmly ushering her away from the platform. When she heard the axe swing down, she shuddered pleasantly, choosing still to take comfort in the fantasy that the men who had hurt her might still face such a fate. The guardsman seemed to have thought it was a sign of distress.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She only nodded, and they carried on through the city. Alouette had never been this far west before. This city seemed particularly foreign to her, but she couldn't put together why. Presently, they followed the walkway forward to an archway on the left side. Through the archway, they entered a training ground.

"This is Castle Dour," the guardsman leading her said. "I'm taking you directly to Captain Aldis."

Upon meeting with the captain of the guard, Alouette was painstakingly required to recount all she knew of what had happened to her once again. The captain hemmed and hawed after she was finished, and ultimately declined to give her any further consideration. It was terrible, what had happened to her, he had told her, but there was nothing they could do. His advice was that she be more careful in the future; after delivering this advice, he sent her out.

With nothing else to do, but not yet ready to give up, Alouette wandered the city trying to think of what to do. She felt stranded. She supposed the thing to do was to just head back east. But how would she get there? She wasn't an experienced traveler, and she was hesitant to buy passage with a horse-drawn cart again. On top of that, she didn't feel satisfied with just leaving it all unaddressed. But what could she do about the guards? As she passed by the entrance to what could only be the Jarl's palace, however, an idea struck her: the Jarl. If she could successfully appeal to the Jarl, perhaps the guards would be forced to investigate.


	2. Bits and Pieces

Morndas, 18th of Last Seed, 4E 201

Although Alouette wanted to immediately take her appear to the Jarl, she knew better. Even having been able to bathe and change into real clothes and shoes in Dragon Bridge, she knew she looked like a walking catastrophe. Before she tried to appear before the Jarl, she needed to look more presentable. She pondered how to accomplish this with no money in a strange city, as she meandered back through the roads toward the market area near the entrance to the city. An inn or tavern might be a good place to start, she guessed; maybe she could work in exchange for a few days' recuperation.

When she entered the Winking Skeever, the tavern near the city gates, she found it breathtaking. The interior, half stone and half wood, was well lit, clean, and warm. The décor was mainly comprised of flowers and colorful floor rugs. A bard was performing, and her voice was strong and clear, and seemed to communicate power.

The innkeeper welcomed Alouette at first, but turned cold when it became clear that she had no money. He had no cooking, serving, or cleaning by which she might earn food or shelter there, he said.

"Although," he added, as if an afterthought, as he looked her body over, "I could perhaps arrange another type of job for you around here. One of a direct 'customer _service_' variety…"

Alouette knew what he was suggesting, and the thought of it made her want to vomit all over his countertop. She was so repulsed, she couldn't even speak her answer, though she was sure the daggers in her eyes conveyed it clearly enough. She backed out of the Winking Skeever, glaring back at the man behind the counter the whole time.

"Come back when you have money," the man called after her smugly. "Or when you decide you're ready to earn some."

When Alouette left the Winking Skeever, it was already late afternoon. She wanted to just sit on the ground and cry. Her life was in shambles and she couldn't even put it back together, with everything going wrong at every turn. She had to use the remaining daylight to keep looking for work, she knew. Otherwise, she'd have to spend the night on the streets of an unfamiliar city. What could happen to her then, she shuddered to think.

Once again, Alouette reflected on how vulnerable she felt now, compared to her old self, and how much she hated the feeling. Before she was taken by those men in that mine cave, this sort of thing might have been an adventure to her – on her own in a new place, finding her way home. And how many harmless nights had she spent out and about on the streets of her own town, or other towns in Eastmarch, or even Windhelm itself? As much as the thought of being alone on the streets of Solitude all night frightened her now, it also angered her knowing why she was frightened rather than calm or even excited.

Motivated by her fear and anger, Alouette picked her feet up, one after another, and carried herself around Solitude's shopping area again, looking to the shops. She first saw, upon leaving the tavern, a garment shop across the street, but she didn't enter it. She had no money yet, and no sewing skill to speak of. There was nothing for her to offer such a shop, in the form of labor or business. Next, she looked next door to the tavern and entered a shop advertising aromatics and potions. The shopkeeper was kind, but had no work available to a beginner and seemed generally a bit preoccupied, asking several questions about whether Alouette had been to Whiterun. In fact, Alouette wondered if she'd have gotten a more favorable answer, had she said she was headed for Whiterun, but she wasn't and it was too late to go back and change her answer now.

Finding nothing in the potion shop, Alouette went back outside and turned her sights on the store across the street – not the garment shop, but one which, from its signage, appeared to be a general goods store. Walking into the store, she found the proprietor to be a Redguard woman with a kind demeanor, who greeted her as she entered.

"Welcome to Bits and Pieces. We've got everything you could want in life."

Alouette had to scoff. "Not unless you can undo the last two-and-a-half months and send me home."

"What brought you to Solitude?" the shopkeeper asked.

"Not my choice," Alouette answered bluntly, but declined to go on about it any further.

The shopkeeper looked Alouette over, and she could feel it – the familiar sensation of eyes on her body. Her hair, though partially detangled, was a mess; she would need to cut it. Her hands were scraped and cut, with nails so short they were scabbed and bloody. Her skin was still pallid, and she knew she had dark circles around her eyes. Her clothes were tailored to someone taller than her, with a completely different body type, making the too long dress settle on her frame in funny ways – popped up in the shoulders, unnaturally drop-waisted, darted much too low on her torso. The clothes were also clean and well maintained in a way that belied her condition. Gracefully, the shopkeeper didn't press her for details.

"I'm Sayma," she introduced herself. "When did you get to the city, then?"

"Just today," Alouette said.

"Just in time for the execution. Must have been a lovely first sight," Sayma said sarcastically.

"I wasn't really looking around," Alouette admitted. "Were you there?"

"No," Sayma said. "That was an ugly affair. High King Torygg's death has turned the whole city on its head."

"I'm sorry – what?" Alouette asked. She was so surprised she nearly started choking on her own spit. "High King Torygg is dead?"

Sayma gave Alouette and strange look. Alouette met her gaze, but with a steady expression of shock, which seemed genuine enough – after all, it was. High King Torygg must have died sometime around or after the third of Midyear, the last date Alouette remembered before awakening in the bandits' mine.

"Where have you been for the last several months?" Sayma wondered aloud. "High King Torygg was killed just over two months ago."

"How?" Alouette was shocked. She had always been under the impression that High King Torygg was a relatively young man, for a King or a Jarl.

"Well… that depends who you ask," Sayma said. She sounded resigned, in a way, as though going into this topic was a complicated, laborious task. "The one thing that's true is that he was killed by the Jarl of Eastmarch."

"Ulfric Stormcloak," Alouette mumbled.

"Indeed," Sayma said. "The man being executed today was the one who let Ulfric Stormcloak out of the city after it happened. He'd have told you it was a fair challenge and no crime was committed. But most people around here would say otherwise."

"How?" Alouette asked again. Despite herself and her situation, she was curious. Born and raised in Eastmarch, of course she knew of the Stormcloaks, though to her knowledge she had never seen Ulfric or any member of his family in person. She knew that the Stormcloaks wanted Skyrim to declare independence from the Empire, but she didn't really see how killing Skyrim's High King would help them accomplish that goal.

"They say it wasn't a fair fight, and that the use of a dragon shout made it an illegitimate victory," Sayma said, with a light shrug. "Between you and me, he wasn't even that good a king."

"Who is the Jarl of Haafingar now? Alouette asked, suddenly remembering that this story affected her too.

"High King Torygg's widow, Elisif. Elisif the Fair, they call her," Sayma said.

A woman! And better yet for Alouette, a woman who may be feeling somewhat vulnerable, herself. She would understand! She would think Alouette's problem was important! Until now, Alouette had never cared one way or another about who ruled Eastmarch, but today she thanked the Divines for Ulfric Stormcloak. If she ever made it back, she'd travel to Windhelm just to thank him for putting a grieving widow on the throne of Haafingar. Bits and Pieces really _did_ have everything she could want in life, or so it seemed. There was only one more thing she needed to ask.

"I don't suppose you have any work available?" Alouette asked hopefully. But Sayma didn't say anything right away, and Alouette's face fell.

"Please," Alouette begged, before Sayma could say the words that turned her away. "Please… I have nothing here, and no one. I'm just trying to get by until I can gather enough coin to take me back home. Please, tell me you have something I can do. No one else would."

"I don't," Sayma said sadly. "I wish I did, but with this war… we've barely had any customers. The business is just too slow."

Sayma sounded genuinely regretful. Still, Alouette thought she might cry right there in the store. How could anyone's luck be this bad?

"Where is home?" Sayma asked. Her voice was kind and sympathetic.

"Huh?" Alouette asked, holding back tears.

"Where are you trying to get back to?" Sayma rephrased.

"Oh," Alouette said, understanding. "Eastmarch."

"That's quite a long way." Sayma sounded shocked, and looked it, too.

"Like I said," Alouette replied bitterly, "it wasn't my choice."

"Well, here," Sayma said, handing her a small backpack. "I may not have work to offer, but I can give you a bit of help."

Sayma began rummaging around the shop while Alouette held the backpack. Into it, Sayma packed a dagger, two healing potions, and a small pouch that jingled.

"That's fifteen septims," Sayma said, putting the pouch in the bag.

"I don't know what to say… thank you," Alouette replied.

"I'm sorry I can't spare more right now. But take care of yourself, and come back to Bits and Pieces any time."

. . .

Although she was better off now than when she had first gone into Bits and Pieces, Alouette was still without any shelter, and the day was fading fast. She hated the idea of using Sayma's money to pay the sleazy innkeeper at the Winking Skeever, but the day had been a complete bust where work was concerned. On top of that, if she could just get a restful night of sleep, she supposed, she could go to the Jarl sooner than originally planned. After all, she no longer needed to capture the attention of a man on the throne of all of Skyrim. A woman would naturally be sympathetic to her plight, whether she found Alouette attractive to look at or not.

So, confidently, Alouette strode across the street to the Winking Skeever and, once inside, marched directly to the innkeeper behind the counter. Before he could make any disgusting comments, she slammed the gold down on the countertop.

"A room for the night," she said sharply.

"Of course," the innkeeper said in a voice that made Alouette's skin feel slimy, somehow. "Right this way."

The innkeeper led Alouette up the stairs to a room on a landing, which overlooked the great hall. The room was well decorated and looked inviting, which surprised her in that it didn't at all match the demeanor of its proprietor. The way he had propositioned her before, she hadn't expected to be treated as well as his other customers, or to a room this nice. And before she could ask anything about that, he had gone back downstairs, leaving her with her own thoughts. In any case, the bed was comfortable and the door had a lock, so Alouette decided she could worry about everything else later. Her sleep was heavy and blissfully dreamless.

Tirdas, 19th of Last Seed, 4E 201

It was still early when Alouette woke, which was just as well – she had work to do. The first order of business would be to make another attempt at detangling her hair. She then had to dress and groom herself carefully to look as clean and presentable as possible.

However, after she had spent the better part of an hour fruitlessly trying to undo the matted, tangled mess that was her once luxurious mid-back length curls, she had to admit defeat. It felt silly to shed tears over such a small thing as a haircut, but Alouette couldn't help it. The sadness she felt was temporarily overwhelming, as she took the dagger from the bag Sayma had packed for her and literally cut her losses, another unasked for change from her old life. What was left of her hair afterward was a collection of very short, bouncy curls, which barely hung past her cheeks. With the weight of so much hair gone, she felt almost light-headed. She didn't like it.

After cutting off her hair and then pulling herself together, Alouette still had work to do. With a pitcher of water and a towel in her room, she washed her entire body, especially her face, as thoroughly as she could. The clothing Faida had given her was still fairly clean. Alouette did the best she could to smooth the fabric over her body in the right way. It was still obviously made for someone much taller than her. All she could do was try her best, she supposed.

On her walk through the city, Alouette felt both confident and nervous. She was sure that what she had to say was worth the Jarl's attention – that part didn't worry her. But how should she deliver it? She had never spoken to – or, for that matter, even laid eyes on – a Jarl before. She knew _who_ the Jarl of her home hold was, but if she had to pick him out of a crowd, she'd be guessing.

The Blue Palace loomed over her all the time, and it didn't make her feel any more at ease as she made her way closer. It was somehow higher up than it had seemed from across the city, she noticed. Her entire walk through Solitude had been uphill, and as she trudged toward the heavy gated archway that led to the palace, the incline became particularly steep. The gate stood open and, passing through, she found herself in a courtyard, where she stopped to take a look around. It was peaceful, full of flowering plants and the smell of pine needles. She let the garden soothe her nerves before moving to approach the palace doors.

There was a singular guard in the courtyard, an imposingly large man in imposingly large armor. Naturally, she knew, he had been watching Alouette the whole time. As she moved toward the entrance to the palace, he blocked her path.

"What's your business here?" he asked, looking her over in a way that made her feel self conscious.

"I have to speak with the Jarl," Alouette said, as evenly as possible, trying to stifle her nerves. She moved to pass by the guard and his arm jutted out to the side, stopping her at the waist.

"The _Queen_ is quite busy today. State your business," he said, as he grabbed her upper arm with his hand.

In this crucial moment, Alouette felt her blood boil. She wasn't doing anything wrong and there was no law against being here – to her knowledge, and if there were such a law, he only had to tell her. But more than that, she couldn't _stand_ having this man just _grab _her in this way. He had no right – she wasn't committing any crime or being placed under arrest. She tried to pull her arm back, but he tightened his grip, digging the tips of his fingers painfully into her flesh.

"One more chance," the guard said. "State your business."

"None of yours," Alouette said in a low growl.

Again, she tried to pull her arm back, this time turning her body back, as if to simply walk away, back out into the city. But the guard maintained his grip. Alouette had reached a breaking point. She whirled back around to face the guard and spat in his face.

Immediately, the guard let go of her arm and drew his sword. At the sight of his blade, Alouette's eyes went wide, her throat went dry, and her heart seemed to stop. But, instead of stabbing or cutting her, he slammed the pommel into the side of her face, knocking her back. She fell to her knees on the ground, at which point he held her at bladepoint.

"You have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people," he stated.

"What?" Alouette said frantically. "No, that's not—"

"Perhaps a stretch in the Castle Dour dungeon will straighten you out," he said. "Now get up! And don't try anything!"

Alouette did as she was told, keeping her hands up in the air and where the guard could see them. She could feel tears running hotly down her face, and she hated it. She didn't want to let this man see them, because he might mistake the reason. Alouette shed tears for many reasons, but the most prominent among them throughout her life had always been anger. People would often tease or mock her about it, which only made her more angry, which only made the tears continue.

The guard sheathed his sword and bound her hands together with one end of a length of rope, which he had been carrying on his person. Then, holding the other end, he began walking. He only had to step out of the courtyard to flag down another guard and pass her off.

"Take this one to the dungeon; let her cool off a while. I'll be there to sort it out later," the arresting guard said. The other nodded, took the end of the rope, and simply led her through the city. This was especially humiliating, being publicly led along as if on a leash, in broad daylight. She didn't know what was worse, between the people who heckled and jeered at her and the people who looked away in shame on her behalf.

When finally Alouette arrived at the dungeon in Castle Dour, the guards at the dungeon intake took everything she had. They even took her clothes, which made her want to cry. Once again, she found herself in a dark, wet stone cell, barely dressed in rags and with no control over her life, and no idea how long it would last.


End file.
